


Hero for Real this Time

by jesseofthenorth



Category: Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Cussing, F/M, Gen, Homelessness, Mostly Gen, Pre-Canon, like 98 percent gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2628764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesseofthenorth/pseuds/jesseofthenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever wondered what Clint Barton's life was like in the period between leaving the circus to be a hero and actually getting to be an Avenger? Me too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero for Real this Time

**Author's Note:**

> I have to give a really big thank you to my artist [lostemotion](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) / [geckoholic](http://geckoholic.livejournal.com) who not only made me some really beautiful things to go with my tale but also read the damned thing and corrected every spelling grammar and punctuation error in the damned thing. This was no small feat my punctuation is ATROCIOUS.  
> I would also like to say thanks to my buddy [Rick](http://myotherheart.livejournal.com) for being consistent in pointing out my plot errors even though he, as far as I know, has never read a comic in his entire life, the poor thing.  
>    
>  _For the purposes of this fic the only thing I am not dealing with from 616 is the complexities of Tony's secret identity. Too convoluted. Besides if Marvel can update people's back stories for their fantastic movies I can do if for my meager fic._

 

As long as Clint lived he would remember the first time he saw Iron Man save someone. Clint was on the sideshow at the Coney Island Circus, pulling in tickets for the big show. He was doing close quarters bow tricks that never worked in the ring but always impressed up close. Knife tricks, shooting apples off Marie d'Roy's pretty head. The tricks were flashy as hell but didn't really take a lot in the way of concentration. He was just getting ready to wrap it up when there was a huge fuss on the edge of the fairgrounds.

Shouting and yelling and fast cars, and then there were cops and guys with guns. People were running in mad panic to get out of the way. Suddenly something red and gold flashed by and Clint heard someone yell "Iron Man!" And holy shit, there he was, a man Clint had only ever read about.

The red and gold figure, moving almost faster than Clint's amazing eyesight could track, dove between the guys with guns and a crowd of kids too scared to move. He stood his ground while bullets bounced off armor, and waved the kids back. Then the man in the metal suit shot forward and knocked the car full of thugs clean over, sending bad guys and guns in every direction.

After that it was all over except the clean up.

Clint never forgot it. The way Iron Man threw himself between innocent people and harm. He never forgot it and he never stopped wanting, from then on, to be the one who did the saving, the guy who could make bad things go away. If not for himself, then for others.

Clint worked to clean up the mess for hours and thought about the looks on those kids faces when Iron Man came to save them. When he climbed into his bunk that night, his legs aching like a bastard, Clint could only curse the Swordsman for the damage done, and swallow a couple of painkillers.

He went to sleep that night thinking about his old costume from his days with Carson's, flashy and purple and a perfect hero's disguise. With a few changes of course. He'd get a tight lock in on this hero shit.

He waited for his moment, so to speak, to shine as the hero Clint was sure he could be. And of course, because fuck his fucking life and the unavoidable Barton luck, instead of being a hero it all goes spectacularly to hell.

The first thing Clint saw that he felt like he can handle was a jewelry store robbery. He watched the street from above, and yeah it was dark and no one was in any real danger, but it was serious crime and a guy has to start somewhere. He figured he could nail this guy with an arrow and hang around until the police nabbed him.He should have known better, Clint thought later.

  
It was a clean shot, all fabric no skin, and for a moment Clint thought he had the guy literally nailed. Until the twitchy little fucker wriggled out of his coat and _ran away_ as soon as he saw Clint. The idiot even dropped the paper sack that held the money he'd stolen. Clint slung his bow across his back and hustled down to street level prevent someone else from grabbing the goods.

The bag was heavy, stuffed too full in danger of bursting, Clint picked it up carefully. He didn't want any of it to spill, he knew the family who owned the store, they worked hard and didn't deserve to lose anything. He'd just secured the bag when suddenly there were sirens and red/blue lights and uniforms and guns and cops screaming at him not to move, 'get down on your knees.' Clint held his hands out placating and tried to say "It wasn't me! the bad guy got away" He was met with "Don't move motherfucker!" and a face full of pistol barrels, because holy shit they thought he was the robber!

Clint did the only thing that made any sense to a scared kid who was used to getting blamed for shit he didn't do. He ran.

  
He ran fast. His one lucky break was apparently the cops that responded to the robbery and Clint's attempted heroism were slower, older, and out of shape. So Clint ran as fast and far as he could.

He was literally still running when a long boat of a car slid past him and stopped. the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen leaned out the window and said "Hey handsome. Need a ride?" It was the first time he saw the Black Widow.

He climbed into her car without thinking about it. He wasn't sure later whether he should regret that or not.They drove north out of the density of lower Manhattan into a place hadn't known existed. The only part of New York he'd seen so far was three of the five boroughs. he was more than a little surprised to see something that looked for all intents and purposes like a small town so close to the city.

"Where _are_ we?" he asked.

"New Rochelle" his rescuer informed him.

"Where are we going?"

"My place" she answered succinctly.

"You have a place _here_? Do you have a name too?" he couldn't help the sarcasm that crept into his voice. Yeah sure he was grateful as shit to be rescued but he didn't have enough details to be comfortable with what was happening to him.

Then the girl in the big shiny car turned her soft sad eyes on him "Natasha" she said oh so quietly. He felt a bit dazed having the full attention of a woman this beautiful focused on him, but Clint was completely gone the moment she turned to him and said quietly " I need your help"

That's what he thought he was doing. Helping. It was what he had intended anyway. And at first that was what if felt like.  
Her name was Natasha Romanov and she really was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She was also not what she at first appeared to be.

She drove a really nice car and lived in an opulent home. But she was also a lot younger than he'd first thought. She might even be younger than him but it took Clint a while to figure that out at first, because he was totally bowled over by her beauty and her big sad eyes and the way she'd looked at him right before she pushed down on her bed and fucked him stupid.

Really stupid. And he stayed that way for a long time. She said she needed him and and he wanted to be needed. It filled something in him that was a ragged hole before, then to be able to step up and be a hero, _her_ hero. It didn't take long all he was thinking about was her beautiful face and making her happy. He went where she told him, and did what she asked and, slept soundly at night curled around her.

Natasha was always the one who came up with their next target. As Clint's skills improved and he learned more about tactics and planning he came to appreciate exactly how skilled Natasha was. Watching her work a mark was kind of amazing while at the same time being disquieting. She really was a pro, the perfect femme-fatale, she would work a mark so skillfully they mostly didn't even know what hit them until Clint had his hands on whatever they were after and Natasha was waving good bye.

He didn't think about the things they stole, the secrets, the technology. They stole a lot of stuff. He learned a lot about being a better thief, but even he knew some of the things they went after were weird. Small bits of technology, a couple of thumb drives and one memorable occasion a handful of paper out of some old guys safe! Who wrote anything down anymore? He didn't think about what Natasha did with those things once she had them. That wasn't his area. His job was to keep her safe.  
"Don't worry Hawkeye. I have it all handled" she told him. It was easier for Clint to take her at her word. She needed him, and it was all Clint ever really wanted, for someone to need him.

They stayed outside the city in her beautiful home. Clint practiced diligently, and perfected the designs for a great range of his 'trick' arrows. It was the happiest he could ever remember being. A full belly and a safe place to sleep made it a lot easier not to think about things too deeply.

The first time she asked him for help with a job was kind of a surprise because right up until he was in the moment Clint hadn't realized she was anything other than a pretty rich girl with a nice house. It turned out was she was, was way smarter than him. He was sneaking into some old guys 'study' (what the fuck was a _study_ anyway) before he even had time to decide whether he wanted to to or not. "I Need your help, Clint" were apparently the magic words that turned off his ability to think. "Go in, get these papers, get back out. You don't even have to look to see if they are the correct papers. They're in the top drawer and the papers are blue. Nothing for you to worry about."  
It didn't hurt that he had been getting his first blow job when she'd asked him. It was dead easy doing it too. She was on the round floor of this huge old house, or mansion or whatever at some kind of fancy ass party, distracting the guy while Clint was sneaking in through a second floor window.

The only hard part for Clint was seeing her through a window smiling and laughing in her red low back gown, while he was making his getaway.  
At her house later, when he handed her the papers Natasha was so excited she through her arms around him and hugged the shit out of Clint. She smelled like lilies and her hair was so soft and she was laughing so happy with him.

"You were wonderful, Hawkeye! My hero!" she said and pulled him up the stairs to her bedroom. Clint didn't have a chance to think about anything but her scent, the way her hair felt between his fingers,the way her skin slid across his.

A few days later she asked him to watch her back while she lifted something from a safe in an office in Manhattan. "I just need you to cover me"

Clint wasn't sure what that even meant but he did his best for her. "I need you with me Clint." She looked so young and vulnerable he couldn't say no, not even when she told him to bring his bow along "Just in case" he wasn't not sure what that meant either. He found out what "just in case" meant, later, when he uses his beloved bow to smack some goon, who was blocking their escape route, in the head with it. The bow was mostly undamaged but the guy he hit was unconscious and Clint was scared he hit the guy too hard because he was so scared.

"Don't worry hawkeye. He is a big man and you didn't hit him that hard."

Clint hoped she was right, tried to believe her even as he swallowed down the bile rising in his throat at the thought of what he might have done.

She pulled him into a scorching kiss as soon as they are clear, and clint stopped thinking about anything. At least for a while.

 

The first time Clint was ever in the Hamptons he was there to steal a hard drive. They approached the house on foot to avoid alerting anyone who might be inside. It was an unnecessary precaution because the place was empty. It was such a beautiful place Clint almost wished they could have stopped and looked. Almost. He watched the driveway through a window while Natasha dismantled a computer, took the hard drive and replaced it with an identical drive that was had nothing on it. He guessed it was so whoever they were _robbing_ wouldn't know they had been robbed. Clint couldn't guess what was on the drive that made it worth this effort.

They left on foot out the back, through a green space and skirted around a fucking _golf course_. Clint wasn't sure where they were supposed to be going. They had ditched the car ( a car he'd never seen before) in the other direction, and he had no idea what they were doing now.

The followed a dirt road into a some trees and there suddenly was a car idling in the dark, waiting. for them apparently, since Natasha motioned him to stay then walked right up to it and rapped on the drivers window. It was dark as hell by then but Clint's eyesight didn't fail him even in this low light. The beefy looking guy sitting in the drivers seat took the drive from natasha. he didn't look very happy. Clint's eyesight was perfect but his hearing was for shit and he couldn't make out what was being said. They were pretty clearly arguing about something. When the two of them, Natasha and the unknown man raised their voices just enough for Clint to realize they weren't even speaking english. They were having a heated half whispered argument in _Russian_. The conversation ended suddenly. the man in the car handed Natasha something, waved her off and pulled away abruptly. There was another car parked behind where he'd been and Clint was confused as hell but he was relieved they weren't walking.

This whole night felt _wrong_. There was something so off about the whole thing, it left him feeling like his world was unstable Clint just wanted to be back in the bed and not think about it anymore. But he couldn't help the unease that had settle in his gut when he heard Natasha and the strange man arguing in Russian. The was something deeply weird going on and he had no clue what it was.

 

Their next job looked like more of the same. It was in Queens this time, and Clint hoped they could at least stop for a decent slice of pizza before they had to go back to fucking suburbia. The job was fairly straightforward although there was more security than usual it looked doable. He glanced briefly at the address of the place and felt a slight frisson of recognition before it disappeared and he was left thinking of the logistics of the job and not the feeling that he should know the place.

When they are actually in Flushing approaching the complex Clint realized why it looked familiar. It was Stark Industries Main Plant.

"Tasha. What the fuck is this?"

"We need to get into Tony Stark's lab"

"What?" Clint asks. He's sure he sounds like an idiot but what the fuck? Tony Stark? That's -

" Nat that's- I don't- We _can't_ Nat! I mean- it's Tony Stark!"

"What's wrong, beautiful boy? Are you not up for the challenge!?"

"The _challenge_ , Nat? It's Tony fucking Stark! That's not a challenge, its nuts! And Stupid!"

Clint couldn't begin to interpret the look on her face. If he didn't know better he'd say she was scared, except Clint knew Natasha Romanov wasn't scared of a damn thing. "So you will not come with me? Will not help me do this?"

"What?" Clint faltered. He didn't want anything to do with stealing from tony stark. But Natasha. "I" he rubbed a hand over his face trying to clear his head "Nat. Even if we could get away with it why the hell do you want to break into one of the most secure places in New York? I mean i don't know for sure but he seems like the kind of guy who guards his shit pretty well. I don't think I do it. Besides? Why the hell do you want _to_?"

Something cold flashed across her face, an expression so unlike her usual half smile Clint thought for a second he imagined it, except her lips were thin and her expression totally flat. "I have to" she said, turning away.

"Why?" he demanded, half scared of what her answer would be.

"Because they ordered me to! I cannot refuse. My handler demands that I retrieve a particular piece of Stark Tech and I go to retrieve it! Very simple. I cannot refuse."

He stepped behind her close but not touching. She was tense and he did not want to spook her. "Why not?" he asked quietly.

"If I do not do as they tell me I will be in a great deal of danger. I have no choice. " she whirled to face him. "Tony Stark is a wealthy spoiled man. He will not suffer from the loss of this. It is one small thing to a man cannot count his own one wealth. He will not even miss it."

Natasha folded her arms defensively looking Clint in the eye, challenging him to contradict her. " I need your help Hawkeye. Will you not help me?"

Clint knew he was being manipulated, he was foolhardy about her, not stupid. He said yes anyway. But he wanted some damned answers when this was over, explanations for things like her "handler". He wanted to know what the hell was really going on. He had some ideas about what was going on, ideas that lead him to words like "traitor" and "spy". Clint could live with being a thief (sort of), but a traitor to his country? No.

He wanted some damned answers, but he couldn't let Nat go into this alone and risk her getting caught. She was in some kind of shit and Clint could only hope that If he stuck with her through this he had some chance of saving her.

So he followed her. She was dressed in power suit and walked like she belonged there. He went in a service entrance by making himself part of a shift change. He ducked into a staff washroom before anyone had time to make note of, or question, his presence, slid back a panel in the sealing and met Natasha in the shaft of a service elevator that would carry them right to a ventilation shaft on the floor they wanted. From this point on there was no need for them to see another human being until they were stepping out of the building. It was a simple plan and they almost made it.

They were within sight of their goal. Clint could actually see the red and gold of their prize across the room, when suddenly there was security everywhere. At least he assumed they're security, big guys wearing suits, waving guns, and yelling "Stop where you are!"

Clint grabbed Natasha and ran, dragging her with him. They'd gone over this plan before they ever set foot in the building just like always. Ingress and egress points discussed and agreed upon. They always had a back up and today that was a very good thing. Because where there was supposed to be no one due to the late hour and the weaknesses Natasha had found in the security they should theoretically never have been seen by anyone never mind half a dozen irate security guys.

"This way!" Clint hissed and her and tried to get Nat to come. She wouldn't though. The tech she was after was still sitting right where it had been. She ducked his grip and whipped out from behind the half wall were Clint was still crouched. the sound of a gunshot almost stopped Clint's heart especially when he heard Tasha gasp before she fell back.

The vent cover Clint had kept working on popped off and he caught it before it hit the floor hoping to hide their escape route.

Nat looked over and saw what he'd done he motioned her to hurry and for once she stopped arguing, did the sensible thing and hauled ass into the open vent. Clint backed in behind her and pulled the cover snugly back into place just as the suits got rave and popped up from cover. Clint held his breath and waited they were so close if tried to turn around in the vent they might hear him. he had to just wait it out and hope they left quickly. At least Natasha was getting out behind him. He could catch up to her as soon as the goons were gone.

"Shit! Where the fuck did they go! We need to find them now. You two start checking doors! You pop a panel in that ceiling and check. Michaels we need to look under every fucking table in this room. Fuck! The boss is gonna kill me if they get away!" The speaker, clearly the man in charge, started to move away and the rest dispersed to do as they were told. Clint used the sound of their movements to cover his very careful backwards retreat. He was only a few yards away from a place where the passage widened enough for him turn around with much struggle. Or noise.

He let out a cautious breath once he was facing the right direction and started following Natasha's route out of the building. When he thought he had gone past far enough to be safe Clint turned on the head light he was still wearing. What he saw on the floor of the vent made his chest tighten with instant worry. There was a trail of blood faint but unmistakable. Clint picked up his pace as carefully as he could. He needed to get to her now. she was fucking _bleeding_. the deeper he went into the bowels of the complex the faster Clint went until he was all but running in a crawl position. It was awkward as shit and he was gonna be bruised all to hell tomorrow. He didn't really care. The only thing that mattered was getting to her. it was not much blood but it was there.

When he got to the point where the power conduits joined everything widened enough for him to stand. Clint was a little surprised that Natasha was not waiting for him there. He took it as a good sign though. It had to mean she wasn't really hurt so she didn't need to stop for his help. She would be waiting for him where the access reached the surface again. They'd get out through an obscured manhole cover a half mile from the plant. That cover weighed 150 lbs and even as awesome as she was Natasha could not lift that much on her own.

Despite that fact, when Clint got to the base of the ladder that would have carried them to the surface together Natasha was no there. There was a stain of blood one rung half way up, he could see it clearly. But there was no Natasha. He stood there like a dumb ass for a couple of minutes trying to figure it out. he looked up and could see that the heavy cast iron manhole was just slightly askew so she had clearly gone up and he didn't know how but he followed her anyway.

It was fucking hard pushing the damned thing out of his way and Clint could help wonder how she had managed. Nat was clearly a fuck of a lot more amazing than he's given her credit for.As he was crouched on the darkened street above carefully pushing the cover back in place Clint vowed to tell how awesome he thought she was, the minute he got back to the house

The car they had stashed was gone. Natasha hadn't risked her safety to wait for him on the street above and that was cool. There wasn't a lot of cover and she _was_ hurt. Clint started at a steady jog heading north scoping out his options for transport that didn't involve his feet. He would jog all the way to New Rochelle if he had to,But he was pretty sure he could find a cab between here and there.

In fact he didn't find a cab. Which was actually a good thing because he had like 12 bucks in his pocket there was no way he was getting anywhere by cab on 12 bucks. He walked. It wasn't _that_ far. Even though it was almost light out before he saw something that looked like where he wanted to be. It wasn't even the farthest he'd ever walked in a night. He took a cab the last two miles. Mostly because he finally saw one, but also because he _had_ to get h- back.

He gave the cabby all of his 12 dollars when they pulled to a stop in front of Natasha's house and got out feeling like a cheap asshole because there nothing left for a tip.

The house was completely dark. Maybe she was sleeping. Not lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Clint quietly walked up the front and along the side to the entrance that said he lived here with her. the back door was unlocked which sent a chill down Clint's spine because there was no way in hell Nat would have been that careless if she was okay. He braced himself and carefully pushed open the door.

The truth was much worse that he could have imagined and the further he walked into the house looking for her the worse it got. The house was completely empty. He did need to search every room to know that. It resonated and echoed like a place completely abandoned. he didn't need to search every room but he did. There was not one single solitary thing to indicate she had ever been here. Or that Clint had ever been here. _Everything_ was gone. Everything from the biggest piece of furniture to the last pair of Clint's socks. There was nothing left. his BOW was gone. Natasha was as gone as if she had never been.

He didn't need to search every room to know it was the truth but he did any way. Getting number and quieter as he made his way through each room. Eventually Clint found himself standing outside the empty garden shed in the bag yard.

It only took him a moment to find the bag he stashed there when he first came. He was so relieved to see it his knees almost buckled when he pulled his insurance out from behind a stack of dirty plant pots and rusting tools. He opened it to check and blew out a breath when the first thing he touched was his old purple hoodie. And even greater relief settled in when he saw a handful of arrows tucked upright along the back of the bag and the parts of his old take down bow nestled in among spare socks and a handful of power bars. even his beat up old water bottle was there. In the flap on the outside of the bag was a five dollar bill. Once again Clint was back to fitting everything he owned into a single bag. He could feel anything but gratitude for the little he had.

He had no idea what to do. No where to turn, no where to _go_. He sat down on the empty floor and watched the sun peak through the trees as it rose. He sat and watched and didn't do much of anything. Eventually he slept because he was tired as hell, exhausted even and there was nothing else to do.

The morning was long gone when Clint startled awake on the empty kitchen floor. He blinked slowly, feeling stupid it took him so long to remember he was alone, in light of the fact that he was in a completely empty room. Completely empty house. He got to his feet, wishing he had coffee.There was none to be had. He went into front room and looked out the window, across the vast lawn , out toward the street. Nothing was any different then when he walked up the driveway in the early morning light. Nothing was different, everything was different.

He didn't know what to do. She was clearly gone, presumably at the command of her 'handlers'. Whoever the hell they were, whatever the hell that even meant. Natasha was gone.

He stomach growled reminding there were other things going on. Like the fact that all his stuff was gone too. And he was hungry. And he needed a shower and some clean cloths. there was only one of those things he could do anything about in the moment,so Clint walked up the stairs to the master bath to deal with what he could,.

He stripped off his clothes leaving them in a heap. The water was hot and there was lots of it. He stood under the spray until it started to run cooler, then shut it off. He stood there for a few moments, sloughed some of the water clinging to his skin away with his hand. He stepped out onto the bare floor and shivered, before going over to the thermostat and turning the heat up.

He used his t shirt to dry himself then hung it over the rack and pulled on his jeans. The socks and underwear he he washed in the sink as best he could with no soap and hung those to dry as well. By the time Clint made his way barefoot down to the kitchen the house was warmer.

His belly was still empty though. There was a limited amount he could do about that. Clint drank water from the tap, cupping it in his hands, drinking until his belly was full. it was a short term solution, but it was all he had.

Clint padded across the hardwood and sat down in front of the big window, watching, waiting for his clothes to dry. Waiting for something to change.

He waited. He slept a lot and drank a lot of water and ignored his mostly empty belly. He only let himself eat one of his precious stash of bars per day.He was still hungry and his belly still ached. It didn't matter, It wasn't the first time Clint had felt that particular pain and he doubted it would be the last.

He washed his jeans and hoodie in the tub and walked around in his shorts while they hung over a vent drying. He showered again, trying not think that it might be his last chance for a while. Still he waited, even though he had all the evidence he needed to know that Natasha was not coming back.

He watched the sun come up for the fifth time since he had come back to an empty house and finally Clint told himself it was time to go. He stomach was a steady ache from lack of food and there was nothing left to eat. He no reason to stay. Eventually someone would come and tell him to leave anyway. Or someone would find him here in this empty house and try to 'help' him.

On the fifth morning, before the neighborhood was properly stirring Clint pulled on his hoodie, tied his boots, slung his beat up old pack onto one shoulder and closed the door behind himself. He headed south back into the city. Back to try again to get something right now that he had nothing left to lose.

He walked all day. It was dusk by the time he found himself in a part of the city that he recognized.Okay so maybe it wasn't _that_ long of a day. The days _were_ getting shorter but his feet still hurt. His water bottle was empty. His _stomach_ was empty. He was out of power bars and had nowhere to sleep. Jesus _Christ_ his feet hurt. He knew there were blisters on them. his boots were good for a lot of things but walking for miles on pavement was not one of them. If he was going to keep this shit up he needed some sneakers or something.

That was a problem for another day, though. Right now he needed to find somewhere to get out of the cold. Because holy hell was it ever cold. The wind was blowing and the temperature was dropping and Clint knew if he tried sleeping out in this weather he was risking hypothermia. There had to be somewhere he could at least get out of the wind.

In the end Clint settled on an abandoned car. Three of the four wheels were gone and the trunk was popped but the glass was intact and it would at least keep out the wind. It was on an overgrown lot and not the street so he guessed there wasn't much chance it was going to get towed, at least not that night. The door was unlocked and opened easily, and when Clint climbed in he found they all locked too. It was as good as he was likely to get tonight.

Clint locked the doors, made sure the windows were rolled up and climbed over the seat into the back. He curled up small and tucked his hands into his armpits to keep them warm. He'd slept in worse places. At least he was out of the wind for now. He'd find something better tomorrow.

He managed two nights in the car. During the day he walked the streets trying to stay warm and scrounge enough change for something to eat. Even if he could get away with it Clint was crap at panhandling. That left dumpster diving for food and bottles or pick pocketing.

Clint lifted one wallet. He felt so fucking guilty he caught up with the he'd lifted it from and gave it back. "I think you dropped this" Clint told the man and ran away before the man could see the guilt in his eyes. He couldn't be a thief, a _bad guy_ again. If his choice was steal or starve then Clint would just go hungry.He did, that day.

That night when Clint went back to 'his' car the windows were all busted out. The wind was blowing and there was snow in the air. There was no way he was sleeping there that night or any other now.

He eventually found a space behind a dumpster that would work to keep some of the wind out and keep him out of sight. It was cold and he didn't get any sound sleep. Clint spent the night determinedly _not_ thinking about shitty Barton luck, and the universe fucking you over when you tried to do the right thing. Instead he thought about how fast he had forgotten how much an empty belly _hurt_.

He was cold and tired the next morning but he was alive. It only took him three hours to find enough bottles to cash in for the price for a hot cup of coffee. He could go to sleep with a clean conscience for today at least.

*

Tony was just getting deep into a groove, fed and facilitated by Guns For Hire when JARVIS had the impertinence to interrupt. "Sir. I believe Miss Potts may be in need of some assistance, possibly even rescuing."

Tony skipped right past annoyed at the interruption and crashed head first into scared shitless. There were very few things Pepper Potts would ever need rescuing from, the only one who knew it better than Tony was JARVIS. "Gimme the co-ordinates, call 911!"

Tony was running toward the flight deck as components of the armor snapped into place. He knew panic would be less than helpful but he couldn't help the first mad flush of it as he lifted off and turned in the direction of JARVIS' guidance. He hoped, god he hoped, it wasn't too serious or a false alarm. Anything besides Pepper being hurt. It was all he could do to hold back panic as he pushed the repulsors to their limit.

There were a lot of alleys in New York City. Tony was profoundly grateful he had JARVIS to help him find the exact one he needed. He landed in a rush just a few feet from where Pepper was sitting on an overturned crate. He took a rushed step toward some little _thug_ crouched in front of her. Tony's hand was out, ready to fire a repulsor blast right through the little bastards chest for daring to even breath in her presence.

"Tony! NO!" Pepper yelled and leapt to her feet jumping in front of the kid. "No! He saved me, Tony! No!"

Tony dropped his arm immediately and looked around trying to figure out what was going on.There was no one else there but Pepper and her supposed rescuer.

The kid was scrawny and dirty, his blonde hair as wild as his wide blue eyes. He scrambled back fast, scuttling a few feet away on his butt. Tony stepped closer to Pepper, watching the kid.

"What happened, Pep?" Tony asked, reaching for her, running his hands over her arms brushing her mussed hair away from her face, checking for injury everywhere he looked.

"What's going on?" he asked, gently pulling her in close.

"I got mugged!" she said tearily into his chest.

"Are you hurt?" he asked gently.

"Not really. My arm hurts."

Tony heard a scuffling noise and whipped around, shielding Pepper behind him. It was the boy.

He was holding Peppers purse out. "One of them hit her in the side of her face" he said. The boy himself was sporting a nasty looking cut on the side of _his_ face. He was not looking at Tony, his eyes were on Pepper, his concern for her clear. "I got your purse from them." he told Pepper.

"Oh! Thank you! Not for my purse. I mean. Not JUST for my purse. Thank you for helping me. I was so scared! I was lucky you were here!" She reached to take it from him.

The boy held it out for her but stepped back immediately after she took it. He clearly didn't want to get too close. He didn't look at her when he said "You needed help. You shouldn't walk here alone, a lady like you. Easy target."

"I know, I just wasn't thinking.Thank you for saving me," Pepper told him, her voice trembling a little, her underlying strength muted but not gone.

The boy nodded at her, blushing a little, then shifted his gaze to Tony. Tony looked right back at him trying to figure out what he was really seeing. The boy was skinny. And dirty. And scared shitless.

Tony could ask what the kid was doing in the alley but he suspected it wouldn't do much good. He didn't look like he was too interested in sharing.

"What's your name, kid?"

The boy blinked at him for a second "Clint" he said softly and looked away. Balanced on his toes, he was ready to bolt just from being asked his name. "You should watch out for her better."

Tony couldn't disagree with him on that.

There were sirens in the distance. He turned back to Pepper when she moved to stand up.

"Take it easy, Pep. EMTs are coming. Wait for them to check you out, please."

She nodded and Tony turned back to say something to the boy, he needed to have the cut on his face looked at. But all Tony saw was the boy's back, disappearing quickly down the alley. He hadn't made a sound. Tony thought about going after him, to check if he was really okay, but the cops were there and the kid clearly didn't want any part of that.

Tony looked in the direction that Pepper's savior had disappeared and then turned back to where he was really needed. Tony would have liked to do something for the kid before he disappeared, but he was gone. All Tony could do for now was whisper thanks and go back to Pepper.

The EMT's were very efficient and the cops were only marginally helpful. They tried, but the only thing they could do was take Peppers statement. They did clue Tony into the fact that this wasn't the first thwarted mugging they had seen recently. According to the LEO Tony talked to this had happened "Something like eight or nine times in the last couple months" and that was more than all similar incidents on this beat in the last year combined. Muggings were common enough, people being saved from muggings? Not so much.

Tony didn't say it out loud but he couldn't help but wonder if that had anything to do with Pepper's scrawny hero. As he talked to the cops his eyes repeatedly returned to the alley where the kid had disappeared.

****

Clint crouched at the end of the alley and watched through a break in the wooden fence. There were cops everywhere and Clint didn't need cops in his life right now, or ever really. But he wanted to make sure the red-haired lady was okay. She was probably going to be fine, especially with friends like _Iron Man_.

Jesus. Clint almost crapped himself when his fucking hero dropped down in the alley beside them and then _pointed a fucking repulsor at him_! The repulsor scared the shit out of him almost as much as it freaked him out to be that close to an Avenger.

Still. Clint watched until the cops were done and the EMTs had checked her over. She looked like she might be okay. Clint kept watch. Then a man in a black suit came and drove her away in a big black car. The only person left in the alley was Iron Man. Well, Tony Stark really, right?

Stark looked down the alley. Clint knew the man was looking for some sign of him, but there was no way in hell he was coming out. Tony Stark was an actual real-life hero but he was also real smart and Clint had no interest in answering questions. He was just gonna wait here until he was alone again. Clint had enough to worry about without Tony Stark poking around wondering what Clint was doing in that alley.

He watched as Stark looked around. Clint knew Iron Man wouldn't find his bow. It was hidden in a place no one like Stark would ever look. _Something_ caught Stark's eye though, but it wasn't in the dumpster. It was behind it. He watched Iron Man reach down and pick something up. His breath stopped cold when he saw the man holding one of his arrows. Shit. He only had five left, and really couldn't afford to lose one.

Stark looked at it and Clint very clearly heard him say "What the fuck?"

Clint barely managed to bite back a laugh, and mentally patted himself on the back for confounding a super hero.

Stark looked down the alley again pretty much right at where Clint was hiding. Clint couldn't help shrinking back a bit when Stark narrowed his eyes, even though Clint was certain he couldn't be seen. It didn't stop the tremor that moved through him, fear of discovery and a little spark of awe. He was watching _Iron Man_ try to figure out what he, Clint, was up to.

Then Stark did something really strange. He very carefully set Clint's arrow on the lip of the dumpster and pressed at one gauntlet of his armour. A little compartment-thingy opened and Stark pulled out something small and white. He fiddled with it for a moment, made a show of holding it up in the air and very deliberately set it down, putting Clint's arrow on top of it. Then Stark dropped the faceplate on his armour and took off straight up. Clint had been in New York a while and it wasn't the first time he had seen Iron Man in flight, but it still made his heart swoop to see.

Clint watched until Iron Man was completely gone before he carefully crept out, watching for any sign of well... anything. When he was sure it was safe Clint went to retrieve whatever Stark had left for him, despite the nervousness he couldn't shake. The need to see whatever it was outweighed his fear.

It was a business card. It took Clint a few minutes to make out what it said: 'Tony Stark' and what was probably a phone number. Clint wasn't real good with numbers and he could never remember things like area codes and shit. But he _could_ see there were ten numbers in sequence, so it was probably a phone number. On the back was something in handwriting but the letters looked messed up. Hand writing was always hard to read and after a while he gave up trying. Clint thought about it for a second, deciding whether to toss the card in the dumpster, rip it up or what. In the end he shoved the card into one of the pockets in his cargo pants and went back to what he'd been doing when he heard the lady cry for help.

He pushed the lid off the dumpster and climbed in. Once he had his hands on his bow and slightly depleted quiver of arrows, and had reassured himself they were both okay, Clint went back to work. It was getting close to dark and he didn't even have enough empty cans for a cup of coffee to warm up with.

Maybe he'd get lucky and find dinner. At least he wouldn't have to hunt for a place to sleep tonight. No one had been snooping around his latest squat the entire week he'd had been there. Clint kept hoping he'd find a blanket or something that could pass as one. Nights were getting colder and so was Clint.

Tony was happy Pepper wasn't hurt too badly, traumatized somewhat but no lasting physical damage. It took less than 24 hours for her to completely lose patience with Tony's brand of care.

"For god's sake Tony I'm fine! Stop hovering! I can't do my job if you follow me around all day. I'm fine! The doctors, which I _did not need to see_ , said I'm fine. It's not like I'm going to get mugged anywhere in this tower. Now PLEASE. Go distract yourself with work or I'll resort to violence!"

He knew it was a little petty to huff and roll his eyes as he was leaving. So sue him, he was worried and he hated feeling helpless. He should have been there to protect her not some grubby little _kid_.

Tony took the elevator to his workshop, acquiescing to Pepper's demands. It wasn't like he didn't have anything else to do. He could be worried about her if he wanted, he'd just- do it from a distance.

Besides, as per usual he had roughly a metric fuck-ton of work to do.

*

Clint got to eat most days which was good, but it wasn't ever enough. He missed eating as much to eat as he wanted, couldn't remember what it felt like to be full.

He also couldn't remember what it felt like to be really warm, even though it hadn't been that long. But he was cold all the time now, so cold his bones ached with it, his shoulders constantly hunched against the chill. He had no way to get warmed up again.

Even when he had money for coffee he couldn't go into a coffee shop and sit long enough to warm up properly. He rarely had enough money for more than one cup and he was starting to look homeless. If he sat at a table long enough to warm up he ended up being asked to leave. He wondered if soon he would be refused service.

At least it was better at night now. He had a place to hunker down where he could keep out of the wind. Two days ago he'd found an old winter coat with a broken zipper. Sure, it had been in a dumpster full of household garbage and it didn't smell that great, but Clint didn't _need_ it to smell like a bouquet of roses. He just needed it to fit over him when he bunked down on the coldest of nights.

Tonight was a little better than most. He had _hot coffee_ and a day old muffin and that was on top of the bread and apples he found when he was diving for cans. His belly wasn't going to be full but it wasn't going to hurt when he went to sleep either.

Clint heard a shout behind him, and the sound of fists hitting flesh. Well shit. It had been days since he had come across someone needing his help. Maybe it wasn't his kind of thing. Not every altercation in an alley was any of his business-

"Oh god!" A woman's voice cried, hurt and terrified.

Clint didn't think about it another second. He quickly set down his coffee and reached into his backpack for his equalizer. Thank god for the crappy take down bow. If it had been his solid wood recurve from the circus he would never have been able to carry it undetected. It only took him a few seconds to put the pieces together and tighten the bolts.

The bow was old and battered but it would do the job. He said a silent prayer and pulled his surviving arrows out as well. He really hoped there weren't more than three of whoever he was going to find around the corner, because that was all the arrows he had left. It wasn't like he'd miss but Clint always liked a little insurance.

Clint deftly snapped the bow string into place and stepped out as he nocked an arrow.

There were three men pushing a scared little blond woman with a bloody face back a forth between them.

Clint drew back and stepped into view. "That's enough! Let her go!"

They were all big, bigger than him, and older. Well fed, too, by the looks of the bellies hanging over their pants. And they all looked dumb enough to be real trouble. The biggest of the three, the meanest looking one, with greasy hair and meaty hands, shoved the woman away. Turning toward Clint, he _grinned_.

"Well, look at what we got here. Who the fuck are you? Robin Hood?" He took a step forward.

The terrified woman broke into a run but as she got close to Clint her step faltered.

Clint looked her in the eye for just a second.

"Run!" he hissed. It was all the chance he could give her. Clint didn't watch her go but he did step between her retreat and the assholes in the alley.

He didn't want to hurt anyone but he would if he had to. He just wanted to stop them and not get himself killed doing it. All these big tough guys going around hurting women and people smaller than them, it pissed Clint off. The look in her eye, and the red headed lady too, Clint saw how scared they were, he remembered being that scared himself, a long time ago. He couldn't sit by and do nothing.

And now here he was looking these angry men in the face. If he didn't do something he was going to get the shit pounded out of himself.

Clint lifted his bow and pulled back the arrow he had nocked.

"Don't move!" he said when one of them took a step in his direction.

The guy just laughed. "What are you gonna do, ya fucking twerp? Shoot me?"

He laughed harder and made a halfhearted dodge in Clint's direction, clearly trying to scare him. Clint was a little harder to scare than that.

He let the arrow go.

It skimmed along the guys upper arm and slammed the arm back against the wall behind him, pinning it there by the fabric of his shirt and a good sized chunk of the meat in his arm, making him shriek.

"I said don't move!" Clint yelled.

Instead of making them back off, though, it just made the other assholes mad and they both took a run at Clint at the same time. He didn't let himself flinch. God, he really wanted to run, instead he set his feet more solidly and drew back his bowstring.

Clint let fly two arrows at the same time, a trick he had learned in the circus that he used to think was only a trick. It didn't look like a trick now as one hit the closest jerk high in the meaty part of his shoulder right by his neck, knocking him back. The second arrow hit at the other man's knee, not hitting the leg but pinning his pants to a stack of pallets behind him. With one down and two pinned solidly Clint did the smart thing. He turned and ran.

He may have been underfed and kind of scrawny, but Clint was naturally fast and _motivated_. He had been running for his life long enough to be really good at it. If these guys caught up to him he was going to be dead. He ran as fast as he could.

Grabbing onto the side of a dumpster Clint hoisted himself up high enough to swing onto a fire escape and head for the nearest roof.

It didn't take him long to lose all trace of pursuit. He stopped quickly to break his bow down and store the pieces, the instant he was out of sight. When he was done Clint ran like hell again, pulling the zipper on his pack tight as he did.

He dropped down into an alley a few blocks away, popped through a hole in a fence, across a street, down another alley, behind a construction fence, then down another side street. Soon enough Clint arrived at his original intended destination.

He crawled through a partially boarded up ground floor window. It was the only way he had ever found into the old hotel, with all the doors locked and chained. That was what made it perfect No one else used the building because it was a pain in the ass to get into. The whole place was boarded up tight except for this one window and anyone over one hundred forty pounds wasn't going to fit through the gap between boards. The upside to missing a few meals.

The light was dim inside but that was okay. People had been telling Clint his eyesight was exceptional for years, and his ability to navigate through the mostly dark ground floor proved it. Clint made his way up three flights of stairs, then a short distance down the first hall. He opened the now familiar door that led to his sanctuary. He'd left the ground floor alone just in case someone else did find their way inside. It was unlikely they would find him, three floors up, before he heard them coming.

When Clint first found this place he had scrounged through the entire hotel, picking through the few things left behind to make a place that was as comfortable as he could manage. He had a table with a flashlight (the kind with one of those big square batteries) and a chair that didn't wobble. He even had a window and it was perfect, because it faced the brick wall of the building next door and no one could tell he was there, ever, even if Clint used a light at night, which he tried not to do. He saved the light for when he really needed it.

And there against one wall was the sole remaining 'bed' in the hotel. An old twin size box spring and a slightly smaller mattress that only had a single tear in the side. It wasn't a real bed, but Clint didn't care. It felt real enough for him when he went to sleep, and it was better than where Clint had been sleeping before. Hell of a lot safer than he had been in a long time, too. Even though Clint never really let himself think the word 'safe'. "Safe" was bullshit. And he didn't want to tempt fate besides.

*

Tony didn't spend a lot of thought on the kid. He was too damned busy, too many irons in the fire and the kid, Clint, wasn't on his radar in any sort of immediate way.

Bigger fish to fry, bad guys to defeat, executive assistants to appease, boards of directors to mollify. Also a team of superheros who depended on him to be there when they called. One scrawny do gooder fell out of his notice pretty quick.

*

 

The weather got colder and for Clint that meant being out more, walking further. It was too damned cold to just sit in the squat and wait for the weather to get better, mostly because it wasn't going to get better for months. So Clint walked more, dug through more dumpsters, and went farther from his hiding place. Which meant he saw more. A lot of what he saw was the bad stuff people did to each other. Clint was not the kind of guy who could walk away and let the bad stuff happen. Not any more. So he got involved.

 

*

 

The Avengers got called out to deal with the Wrecking Crew, again. They had this bank robbery thing going on, and frankly, Tony was getting sick of dealing with this shit. He was not being a prima donna or an elitist snob or anything but the Avengers had much bigger fish to fry most days than these small timers. It had been a miserable month and he needed some frigging rest but instead of getting it the Avengers were flying in to round up _bank robbers_.

The thing was, when the Avengers got to the warehouse where the Wrecking Crew was supposedly holed up with the contents of several hundred safe deposit boxes? The loot was in a nice neat pile and so were all the bad guys.

One pinned to a wall by four arrows solidly anchored by the flesh and clothing of his arms. Two tangled up and unconscious under some kind of net, and one knocked out cold with a cord wrapped tightly around his ankles.

There was no one else in sight. The only clues were the arrows holding the Wrecker firmly in place.

 

Tony's interest was officially peaked. It was pretty clear to him by the time the thing with the Wrecking Crew was wrapped up that this was the work of that kid who had saved Pepper. He wanted to know what was up with that kid. He needed more information, needed to see what there was to see. Try to figure out what the hell those arrows were really all about. Tony like a good puzzle though.

It took him days to find what he was looking for. There might have been some hacking of various NYPD related data. What ever. It was educational and only a felony if you got caught, which Tony had no intention of doing. He just wanted some info. He got quite a lot more than he bargained for.

Several foiled muggings in the last month. Also a blocked liquor store robbery, an interrupted kidnapping and that bank robbery the Avengers called involved in. They all had one thing in common: Arrows. And in Tony's experience, arrows meant a scrawny guy who kicked petty criminal ass, and then disappeared. The scrawny kid who carried a _bow_.

Tony couldn't help grinning when he thought of that kid swooping in to save the day like fucking _Robin Hood_! The kid had balls and Tony would easily admit he admired the hell out of both the sentiment and the result. And he was going to find that kid and tell him so. Also Tony kind of owed him. He had saved the most important woman in Tony's life and that deserved some kind of response beyond the whispered thanks the kid had gotten in the alley last year. He'd have to do something about that. Tony could also admit he was curios.

All Tony had to do was find him.

"JARVIS! New project!"

 

Three days later Tony got the response he was waiting for when he asked Jarvis how it was going. "I have compiled some data and overlaid onto the map as you suggested. There is a pattern, sir."

Tony stared at the map JARVIS had pulled up, his jaw slightly agape. Red dots that represented thwarted crimes in the immediate vicinity of where Pepper was mugged, none of which had anything to do with the Avengers. _Sixteen_ in one month. What made that significant was the fact that there were not that many recorded in the previous _twelve months_.

"Well, well. Clint who-ever-you-are, you have been a busy little waif." Tony tapped his chin for a couple of seconds. "JARVIS? Access the security cameras in lets say… a ten block radius"

"Working on it now, sir." Which was JARVIS' understated way of saying I will have that for you in a nano second.

Tony had JARVIS running a selection of available cameras non stop as they worked, glancing at them now and again while he got his hands dirty and JARVIS ran a program in the background to keep an eye out. It only took two more days. Tony thought he showed amazing restraint in only indulging in a little harmless video surveillance while he worked.

"Sir, I believe I have found the object of your interest. He appears to be in some distress." The faintly worried tone JARVIS used made Tony set what he was doing aside and look up.

'In some distress' was one way of putting it. Another way might have been getting the crap beat out of him. Three huge, really pissed off guys circled around him and Clint held something long and slim in his hands. Even in the grainy surveillance footage Tony could see the blood on the kid's face, his ripped shirt, one eye almost swollen shut. He swung his weapon (stick?) at one of his assailants, making contact but not doing a lot of damage. Distracted by the goon in front of him Clint missed the strike from behind, when a huge fist slammed into his left kidney.

Tony couldn't help wincing in sympathy. The kid was going to be pissing blood for a week.

"Is this live feed, JARVIS?" Tony asked, pulling off his goggles and moving toward the bay that held his current suit model.

"Indeed sir."

"Do you have a lock on the location?"

"Within twenty feet."

Tony looked at the frame of the boys face, were JARVIS had moved the shot in tight, just long enough to decide. "Time to suit up, J-man. Uplink the co-ordinates and get Happy to follow in the car. "

"Immediately, sir."

Tony stepped into his favorite red and gold suit and they went to rescue Peppers rescuer.

 

Clint might have been a bit hard to find, collapsed behind a dumpster in the same alley were Pepper had been mugged, if Tony hadn't had JARVIS watching the alleyway while Tony flew in.

He flipped up the faceplate on the armor and approached the dumpster cautiously.

Tony didn't want to startle him. He wasn't making any effort to be quiet. Sneaking up on someone desperate who knew how to fight was a stupid idea. Tony was over his quota for stupid ideas this month. So he just walked up to where he saw a pair of battered purple chucks sticking out and said, "Hey kid, you okay?"

The kid startled so hard he smacked his head on the dumpster's side and almost fell over. Not really the start Tony was hoping for. Tony came a little closer holding his hands out to show he was harmless.

"Hey. Remember me? You saved my friend from getting hurt. Pretty red haired lady? Remember?" he prompted as the boy blinked slowly at him.

"Ir'n Man," he slurred.

"That's right. And you're Clint, right?"

Clint nodded heavily. It looked like it was all he could do to hold his head up.

"You look like you might need some help, maybe need to see a doctor?"

"No!" the boy cried out, voice broken. "No doctors." He reached out for the wall behind himself and pushed unsteadily to his feet, his eyes jumping around, looking for an escape.

"Okay!" Tony admonished "No doctor! Okay? Just for Christ sakes! You're a mess, kid, you need some help "

"No," Clint croaked, trying to stand all the way upright.

Tony started to panic a little. He had to do something, or this kid was going to stumble away to god knew where and probably fucking bleed to death or some fucking thing.

"Okay! I said no doctors. But you gotta let me help, man."

"Dun' need help," the boy said, pushing himself away from the wall. He wavered for a second, then took a step forward. That was all he had in him though. One step, and his legs gave out. Tony grabbed him before he fell face first into the dirtiest alley in Manhattan.

"Little help here, Hap?"

 

*

 

Clint came to in the back of a car, propped up against the seat, door open and Tony Stark (without the armor) crouched in front of him looking worried. Clint's head hurt and he had no idea what the hell was going on. He tried to hold it together while exhaustion, pain, nausea and creeping terror were trying to take over. No one needed that. In fact all Clint wanted was to figure out what the hell was going on and how the hell he was going to get out of this. Whatever this was.

"Here," Tony Stark said holding out an unopened bottle of water.

Clint couldn't help licking his lips, he was fucking thirsty and water was not of those things you just found lying around. Well, okay, sometimes he did, but the dregs of a half empty bottle of water out of the garbage was not the same as a bottle new and clean and just for him.

Clint licked his lips again and tried to look away, but he took the bottle when Stark tipped it at him, encouraging Clint to take it. Clint was too thirsty to be proud. In fact, his pride was pretty low on his list of priorities most days.

Clint tried to crack the lid but his hands were beat up and starting to swell. He must have gotten some good hits in if his hands were already that bad. He couldn't even wrap his fingers around the lid tight enough to grip.

Stark watched him, eyebrows arched. He didn't say anything, though, just took the bottle, turned off the lid and handed it back. Clint drank slowly, taking his time. Partly using the stall to figure out what was going on, partly trying to drink slowly enough that he wouldn't puke.

Nothing made a lot of sense, he was missing too much context. The last thing he remembered was trying to hold off the goons before everything whited out,and then someone, obviously Stark, startling him. Clint remembered whacking his head. He felt like an idiot for letting someone sneak up on him.

Now he was stuck here with this rich guy looking at him like Clint was gonna, like... die or something, Stark's face filled something that looked suspiciously like pity. Clint didn't want fucking _pity_. All he wanted was to get the hell away.

"Um. So. Thanks for the water? But I gotta-" Clint waved his hand vaguely toward the open end of the alley.

Stark just arched an eyebrow at him. "Kid. You just got the shit kicked out of yourself, then whacked your head and passed out when you tried to walk. Take a minute. You look like shit. And I owe you a favor for saving my best girl. Who will kick _my_ ass if I let you crawl away to go die somewhere. At least let me slap a band aid on something, or I don't fucking know! Buy you a burger! I can't just leave you like this!"

He looked sincere. Clint had a healthy skepticism when it came to people and how 'sincere' they were. No free lunch and all that shit. If someone was trying to convince you of how harmless they were, in Clint's experience the exact opposite was true.

"Come on, man! Throw me a bone here! One burger. Get you all fueled up for the next mugging intervention. You look like-"

Holy shit, Stark knew what Clint had been doing!

Clint launched his body off the seat over Stark's shoulder and right into the alley. Stark yelled, startled and fell back out of the way. Clint lurched down the alley. He might have made it too, except for the fact that he was beat to shit, had a shiny new concussion and stumbled to his knees as soon as he tried to run.

"Shit!" Stark yelled behind him and there was a flurry of steps and then strong hands lifting him up. Clint pushed against being grabbed, unsuccessfully.

"No!" Even to his own ears it sounded like a cry. He felt the bile rise up his throat and turned his head in time to avoid puking all over himself and who ever was trying to hold on to him.

"Damn kid, you're a mess."

Clint didn't deny it, he barely had the energy to groan. He heaved again and all the water he'd drunk and the apple he'd eaten earlier came up, leaving Clint's stomach empty and his throat burning. He heaved again but his stomach was _empty_ , and it made his stomach cramp horribly. The only thing worse than puking was dry heaving.

Clint felt tears spring to the corners of his eyes. Fuck, he was sick of this shit, sick of everything, trying, failing, falling down. He closed his eyes and let himself sag. He was almost running on empty before things went wrong today, but things just kept getting worse. Clint wondered briefly if he could just give up. Close his eyes and just stop.

He was cold and tired and covered in bruises and hungry and thirsty and humiliated and broke and disappointed in himself to a degree that physically hurt. And now it sounded like he was busted. Stark knew what he had been doing. Clint sat down hard, hunched over his knees and put a hand over his face and tried not to let tears out. He kept trying to do the right thing and all he managed to do was to fuck up. Clint hunched in on himself and hoped the rich man would go away and let him wallow in peace.

"Aw no, kid! Don't do that!"

Oh great! More pity, just what he wanted to inspire. From Iron Man. Who actually _knew_ how to help people, unlike Clint who apparently only knew how to get beat up and embarrass himself. Clint hunched over further, trying to hide his humiliation.

"Come on," Stark said gently and Clint felt a strong hand under each of his shoulders lifting him up carefully. Clint was dizzy and tired. "Let me help, kid." Clint sagged a little and let the exhaustion he had been fighting for days take over.

He felt himself being moved and settled onto something soft, heard a car door close. Maybe they were gonna take him somewhere and murder him and he wouldn't have to think about anything anymore. Or they could be taking him to jail, in which case he would have a warmer place to sleep tonight and maybe something to eat that didn't come out of a dumpster.

Clint didn't really think they were going somewhere and getting a burger (maybe even getting warmed up enough that his bones didn't ache). He couldn't think about it. Because in his recent experience things like that didn't happen. Clint closed his eyes, and for the first time in his life he let whatever was going to happen to him ...happen. He didn't have the energy to fight anymore. Clint let the warmth in the car and the movement, the sound of the tires and the bone-deep exhaustion pull him under.

 

*

Tony watched the kid and felt the shock rumble around in his head for a bit. This kid, who wasn't really that small, almost Tony's height, _felt like_ he weighed a hundred pounds. When Tony slipped his hand under the kids arm to steady him he'd felt how thin he was.

Tony understood the kid might be homeless or at least strenuously avoiding whatever passed for home. Tony knew before coming to find him that he had some rough shit going on in his life. He just hadn't expected to be so brutally confronted with it the instant he arrived to try and help this kid out.

The grainy surveillance footage hadn't really done the damage to his face justice. His nose was _busted_ , purple and black and red and swollen, one eye swelled almost closed. He had a rip along one cheek that wasn't closing properly because of the swelling, and his lip was split.

God knew what was under his extremely filthy clothing. He smelled bad, his hair was greasy, his shoes were held together with duct tape. It was winter and the kid was wearing nothing but a filthy purple hoody. A _hoody_ , for fucks sake. No gloves, no hat. Clint stirred a little, pulling his legs up close to his chest, curling into a ball and exposing one ankle. No fucking _socks_ either, apparently.

Tony had the sudden overwhelming urge to find out who ever it was that had fallen down on the job of looking out for this brave, kind of amazing kid, and ruin their fucking life when he found them.

The whole ride to the nearest drive-thru (he had promised the kid a burger after all) Tony tried really hard to talk himself into not getting invested in making this kid accept his help. By the time they were done at the drive-thru the kid was sound asleep and Tony had a new plan.

"Change of course, Happy."

They got to the new destination roughly 20 minutes later. Tony had decided to just fuck it. This kid deserved a god damned break just by virtue of the fact that life has clearly been crapping all over him for a while and he was STILL trying to help people, standing up and getting involved, doing the right thing. All he needed was a friend or two, for someone to give a shit.

They were pulling into underground parking when Tony was just making a call. "Hey Cap, I'm bringing up a house guest. Wanna meet me at the elevator? Yeah. I might need a hand with- I might need a hand. A little moral support kinda thing…. Thanks."

If Tony couldn't convince the kid to accept help he was pretty sure the most earnest man in New York could. So what if getting Captain America to convince people to do what he wanted was fighting dirty. Tony wasn't really above that sort of thing, after all.

 

*

Clint woke up in a parking garage, the door of the big black car was open and the big dude in the black suit was hauling him out of a car. Stark's car. Stark was hovering in the background all but wringing his hands.

"Bwah?" Clint asked, dizzy and blurry and unable to make sense of what was going on. Was taking people to a parking garage to murder them a thing? He had no real idea but it seemed unlikely.

Clint also didn't think there was parking under police stations in Manhattan. None he knew of, anyway. Maybe there was secret underground parking for rich billionaires or some shit.

Then there were doors sliding open and big burly black-suit-guy was like- _carrying him_! Clint pushed feebly at him, trying to find his missing exhausted dignity. He kicked, trying to get away.

"Take it easy, kid. We're almost there."

"Not a kid. I got a name," he muttered and kicked some more.

"Jeez boss, this kid don't weigh nothing but he can sure squirm!"

And then Clint's feet were on the floor and the big guy had a hold of his hoodie, Clint guessed to keep him from falling on his face, since his legs didn't seem to want to work. Clint was okay with that though, he just wanted to lay down somewhere. Maybe they would put him in his own cell. That'd be sweet. No one to bother him and he could sleep.

A bell sounded and the doors opened and Clint thought 'oh elevator' followed quickly by 'this must be the nicest cop shop on the planet' and then his legs folded up and he was out before a big blonde guy standing in front of the elevator grabbed his collapsing body. Clint's last thought was that he looked familiar.

"Holy shit, Tony! What the heck is- who- fuck! Where the hell- TONY DID YOU STEAL A HOMELESS PERSON?"

 

*

Clint didn't wake so much as float slowly up through a fog of pain and hunger and exhaustion. It wasn't a new sensation for him.

What was new though was the fact that he was warm, and whatever he was lying on was not a ripped mattress on the floor of an empty squat. It also didn't feel much like how he figured a cot in jail would be. It wasn't a cot, he'd slept on a lot of those and this wasn't one. It was an honest-to-god _bed_.

He lay where he was, eyes still closed, and let himself enjoy the warmth and relative comfort. He knew if (when) he opened his eyes it would all go to shit. He had no idea where he was or what was going on, but he wasn't where he belonged and that was rarely (never) a good thing.

He wasn't in any pain which was good. Weird but good. In Clint's experience his face should hurt a lot more. Clint reached up to feel the cut on his cheek. Huh. Bandaged.

 

"He's waking up," a man said and Clint could hear the slightest trace of Brooklyn in his voice.

"Hey kid. You with us?"said someone else. Clint knew that voice. Tony Stark. Again. "Come on kid. Open up them baby blues, let's see how bad you got your bell rung."

"Not a kid," Clint tried to grumble. Except it was less of a grumble and more of a whisper. His throat was raw and dry.

"Here," another voice said and something touched his mouth.

Clint flinched away sharply and his eyes opened without conscious thought. He got one arm up to deflect whatever was near his face. There was a hand close by and he struck out at it at the same time as he pushed away trying to get distance between himself and _everything_ , hands scrambling for purchase and hoping for a weapon.

He came to a stop when his bare back hit a wall, his heart hammering and his breath short. Clint fought through a wave of dizziness and tried to keep his eyes on everyone in the room. There were a few of them and he could feel his eyes flicking around the room trying to keep track of them all.

No one moved, they all just stared at him; Stark and the big blonde from the elevator and some guy in a white coat and glasses. Stark had said he was going to buy him a burger and had taken him somewhere else instead. Clint looked down at himself and saw he wasn't wearing his clothes either, just some kind like nightgown thingy. Clint felt terror spike through him, a cold sharp flush that moved through his whole body, head to toe. Fuck. He was in _hospital_! Again. He had to get out of here!

He pushed up and moved to stand. If he could get to the door he could find a way out. He was good at that, finding a hole to run through.

The problem of course was Stark and his stupid superhero schtick. He reached out for Clint, trying to grab him, stop him or something, and Clint flinched back, ducking away. He felt his shoulder hit the wall and couldn't help the sound he made. He reached a hand back to the wall trying to steady himself as another wave of nausea hit him.

"Tony! Stop! You're scaring him." And there, suddenly, was the pretty redhead from the alley stepping between him and the men in the room. She reached out carefully, gently put her hand on Clint's arm, and he couldn't help flinching, even though he was sure she wouldn't hurt him.

She looked at him and smiled sadly.

"You're okay, Clint," she told him quietly. "No one is going to hurt you."

He wanted to believe her, her smile was so sweet and reached all the way to her eyes. He shifted a little closer to her and the lady - Pepper, Stark called her- turned to face him completely. She slowly reached up and brushed the too long hair off his forehead.So gently, so _carefully_ that it took every bit of strength he had not to move, either flinch or move into that soft touch He couldn't do it though, not because he didn't trust _her_ , it was his luck he couldn't trust. What ever the hell she was trying to do for him wasn't going to last and he wasn't going to let himself take anything from her, even such a small comfort.

"So I can go?" he demanded, scowling because his voice was cracking and dry and he sounded about as tough as a week old kitten.

"If you want," she told him

"Wait Pep, what about-" Tony tried to interrupt.

She shot him a look and then turned back to Clint. "If you want to you can go."

"You're not going to turn me in to the cops?" he demanded.

"The police? No! Why would we do that?" She seemed genuinely shocked by the idea.

Clint felt a little flash of hope in his chest. "Because of them muggers and shit."

"What? The ones you beat up and chased off? All _sixteen_ , no wait _seventeen_ of them? Those guys?"

Tony laughed when he said it, like it was some kind of joke.

"It's not like they're going to press charges, kid- uh- Clint. And I am not so much about punishing that kind of initiative." Stark smirked at him and Clint had no idea what he was supposed to say.

"You really want to leave? I promised to feed you. The burgers I ordered are on their way up. Maybe you could stick around long enough to eat one."

Clint wanted tell him no thanks and demand his shoes and his clothes, but his traitor fucking stomach growled loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Clint felt his face flush with heat.

"Come on," Stark said earnestly. "Just have a damned burger, let Pepper and I say thanks properly and you can go whenever you want. Okay?"

Clint looked at him for a second trying to decide. Then big burly suit guy from earlier was walking into the room, arms full of brown paper bags that were spotted with grease and trailing the smells of cooked meat and fries and Clint's mouth suddenly flooded with saliva.

He swallowed and said coolly (if a little scratchy), "I could eat."

Stark grinned wide and grabbed one of the bags. He sat in one of the chairs and so did everyone else. Clint was the only one left standing, and he made his way back onto the bed just to keep from looking stupid.

There was enough food in the bags to feed a small army and while it was being pulled out and distributed to everyone, Clint stole glances at the room and the people in it.

It was kind of like a cross between a hospital room and a really nice bedroom. Clint had spent a hell of a lot more time in one than the other. He knew what hospital rooms looked like. Plus there were only three walls, Where the fourth would be was a long curtain that had been pulled back to show another bed like the one Clint sat on.

He couldn't quite figure it out.

Another thing he couldn't figure out was who the other people were. He knew Stark (sort of) and burly-suit-guy that Stark called Happy, and Miss Pepper of course. And Stark had just called the guy with glasses Doc so that was easy. But the big blonde guy was bothering him. Clint had the strong feeling that he should know who that guy was. His face was mostly average (and kinda handsome) and there something that was just so _familiar_ about him.

Clint took the burger Pepper passed him and decided not to think about it too hard right that second.

Which was, of course, when Stark held out a paper wrapped burger to the blonde guy and said "You want one of these Cap?" and the penny dropped

"Holy Shit! You're Captain America!" Clint felt his whole face flush red again and he had the overwhelming urge to slap a hand over his own mouth.

The big blonde guy just grinned wide and said, "Steve Rogers, at your service"

"Sharp eyes there, Clint," Stark said, a little sarcastically but smiling anyway, and handed him a paper pouch full of french fries.

"Sorry," Clint mumbled and stared down at the food he was holding.

"No need to be sorry, son. Would you like a Coke?" Captain America (CAPTAIN AMERICA for fucks sake!) said and offered him a paper cup with a straw.

"Am I in the Avengers Tower?" he asked kinda stunned.

"TONY! You didn't tell the poor boy where you were taking him?" Pepper sounded completely outraged on his behalf. Clint put a fry in his mouth to keep from showing his smile.

"He was passed out!" Tony defended himself.

"He was, Miss Potts," burly-guy (Happy?) said.

"Still. Tony!" she chided. "No wonder you were so confused when you woke up," she said to Clint, and sat down on the edge of the bed nibbling one of the fries Tony had handed to her.

"I'm eating lunch with the Avengers," Clint whispered.

"Well, some of us anyway. And you not actually eating," the Captain said grinning at him

"Sorry," Clint said again and took a small bite of his burger.

It was the best tasting thing he could ever remember eating. Clint made sure to take small bites and eat slowly. It wasn't going to work out well if he gobbled it the way he wanted to. He had more food in his hands right then than he had eaten all week. He didn't want to wolf it down only to barf it all right backup. So, small slow bites.

He didn't miss the sad knowing look on Captain America's face. Clint figured he might be a guy who had missed some meals too. He didn't say anything about it to Clint though, just took another bite of his own food.

He got about halfway through the burger before his stomach did that thing where it seized up and refused to take in anything else. Full. He was _full_. Clint stared down at his half finished burger, shocked. He'd forgotten the feeling. He set the burger down on the grease-stained paper and carefully wrapped it back up. They might let him take it with him instead of throwing it out.

He sipped carefully at his coke and watched the others eat. Clint could feel the caffeine from the soda and the flush of calories and nutrients from the food moving through him. It was like he was finally firing on all cylinders again after limping along for weeks. He almost felt human again.

As much as he actually really didn't want to do any such thing, it was time for Clint to get his ass moving. No way was he making the mistake, ever again, of staying somewhere he didn't belong just because he was getting comfortable. Shit like this was temporary. He needed to go.

He shifted around in the bed a little, testing to see how his body felt overall. It seemed okay. There was however one massive problem with leaving. Except for the hospital gown thingy he was wearing Clint was buck ass naked. He swung his feet over the side of the bed.

"Um." He put his feet on the floor, testing out the idea of standing.

"Yes?" Tony asked.

"Where. Uh- where are my clothes?" he asked, plucking at the light cotton _thing_ he was wearing.

"Well- I - uh we. **I**. I kinda um- threw them out."

That stopped Clint cold. His clothes. They. "What?" he barely recognized his voice.

"They were disgusting! And wrecked! I couldn't let you keep wearing them!"

Clint just stared at him, and then blinked, trying to process.

"Well, what exactly am I supposed to wear now? That's like everything I fucking own except-" and _then_ something hit him right between his eyes. "My bow," he whispered.

"Oh," Stark said. "You, uh- didn't- have it. When we found you. There was no bow."

Clint's legs stopped holding him up.

"Shit," he heard from beside him and then a very large arm caught him and moved him back to the bed and pushed him to sit down.

Clint felt tears come up in his eyes and he didn't even bother trying to keep them away. His bow and his hoodie and the purple converse All Stars he spent a whole days worth of food money when he saw them in a the thrift store window. All gone and now he literally had nothing left to his name. He choked on a sound that was trying to work it's way up his throat. He couldn't do this, not right now.

"You said I could go." Clint blinked away tears and looked at Miss Pepper. He made no effort to keep from accusing her.

"Oh. Yes. I did, didn't I? Um well. We'll just- Tony! Go get him something to wear! Some jeans and a shirt and some comfortable shoes."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you stole all my clothes and I GOTTA FUCKING GO!" The balls on this guy! Kidnapping Clint and chucking out his stuff, and now he wants to argue who's fault it is?

"Okay! Shit! Stop fucking yelling! You're gonna wreck your throat. And I guess nothing these guys have will come close to fitting." Tony waved a hand vaguely at Captain America and the Doc. "And yeah, I did get rid of your shi- uh- stuff. Okay. Just gimme a minute," he said and took off out of the room like his ass was on fire.

Clint spent the time Stark was gone sitting on the bed scowling with his arms crossed over his chest, hugging his own arms and not looking at anyone.

A couple minutes later Stark was back with an arm full of stuff and a pair of fancy looking trainers right on top. Clint grabbed the clothes without even a thanks and then stopped and looked at everyone who was standing around looking at him.

"D'ya mind?" he said holding up a pair of boxers that were gonna be too big but still had the tags on them. He'd do it if he had to but he preferred not to get naked in front of all these people.

"Oh!" Miss Pepper squeaked and all but ran out of the room, Stark right behind her. Captain America didn't look like he was inclined to leave. The doc looked at Captain America, who gave him a nod, then followed Miss Pepper and Stark.

"Um," Clint said and felt a blush creeping up.

"No offense, Clint, but I am not going take a chance on you face planting because you are too beat up to stand on your own." Cap folded his (really impressive) arms across his chest and waited.

The ball was clearly in Clint's court. Clint turned toward the pile of clothes Stark had brought, and, fighting a blush, pulled the string on the gown thingy he was wearing.

Turned out Captain America was right (shocker) about him falling on his face, but the less said about that the better, as far as Clint was concerned.

Any illusions Clint had about making a clean get away were firmly squashed by Stark standing by the elevators wearing an overcoat and holding Captain America's shield out to the Captain. "Thought you might want this, muscles."

They both stepped into the elevator and looked out at Clint expectantly.

"Um."

"Come on kid. Haven't got all day. Let's get you home."

Clint scowled at them and stepped inside. "Not a kid," he muttered as the doors closed. "I don't- I. I can _walk_."

"Good for you," the Captain said leaning against the wall of the elevator as they went down.

Clint huffed in frustration. He needed to find a way to get these clowns to back off. He didn't want either one of them to figure out where he 'lived'.

He could just tell they were both the type to get even more nosey than they already were. And if they figured out how old he was, well then he was gonna be right back where he had originally started, and there was no way in _hell_ that was happening.

The elevator dinged and the door opened on the parking garage.

"Look," Clint said turning to the two men standing in the elevator. "Thanks for the burger and the… save or whatever. But I got it from here. I'll just collect my bow and… whatever. Thanks for-. Thanks." Clint turned to leave and suddenly a big hand landed gently on his shoulder. Gently but really _insistent_.

"Son. Don't bother. There is no way Tony or I would feel right about letting you wander off in the shape you're in."

"I am not _wandering off_! I just wanna go home and get some sleep." Clint tried to twist away, letting the fear that was twisting in his guts come out as anger and hostility hoping they would get the message and leave him the fuck alone.

It was gonna take over an hour to walk from here to his squat, and Clint felt like shit. He just wanted to get there before dark, and the faster he could get rid of them the faster he could get back where he belonged.

"Okay then," Stark said "Happy is bringing the car around."

So much for that idea. Stark looked so smug Clint kind of wanted to punch him in the face. He couldn't actually do anything besides stand there and stare. He had no idea what _to_ do. They obviously suspected something and Clint had no idea how to get out of this.

He had only wanted to help a few people. He was not wired to walk away from a call for help, but right now at this minute Clint wished he was. He wished (almost, sorta, okay only a little) that he was one of the millions of people in this city who could just look the other way and keep walking. Because so far all it had gotten him was some aggravation, a really thorough beating (or two), and now the possibility of being apprehended by the state. Again.

The big car from earlier pulled up in front of them, the Captain opened the door and Clint couldn't think of anything to do besides get in.

Honestly, Clint didn't mind the ride. He was even grateful to not have to walk more than twenty blocks in the approaching dark with temperatures already below freezing.

He just. He couldn't let them find out how he was living. It wasn't pride because, honestly, at this point he didn't have a lot of that left. It was the fact that as soon as they figured out he was basically (totally) homeless at least one of them was going to want to 'fix' it. And soon after that they were going to discover he wasn't 18, which would be followed by the state getting involved and just. Fuck that. He couldn't go back into the system. Not now, and not to another group home. He was only a few weeks away from being totally out. All he had to do was hang on and he would be okay. Then he could get a job and a real place to live.

He'd had enough of state homes and group homes and all the really unpleasant shit that came with them. Even the best state home wasn't much better than a warehouse. And the worst ones were not something he wanted to think about, never mind experience, again.

Clint knew that his life wasn't ideal right now, but he never saw his current situation as anything more than short term, one day soon he was going to be fully in control of his fate and when that happened he could do whatever he put his mind to. He just had to hang on. Which for the time being, meant not getting found out by a bunch of well meaning super heroes. And that meant he had to figure out how to get away from these guys and their good intentions.

It was sadly a lot easier than he expected. He just told them where to drive and Happy went. Clint got them within a couple of blocks of his place and from there it was easy.

"This is it," Clint said, indicating a believably modest building that he knew nothing about beyond the fact that people lived there. It would be as good a front as any.

Happy promptly found a place to pull over. There was a reason Tony joked about this being Hap's super power, he could find a place to park anywhere.

"This isn't where I found you," Tony said.

Clint couldn't decide if he was confused or suspicious.

"I was taking a shortcut."

"Both times?" Stark asked, eyebrow cocked. Definitely suspicious, Clint decided.

"It's a _shortcut_." Clint put just enough indignation into his voice to sell it, without going over the top.

"Right." Tony looked at him for a moment. "So are your folks home?"

"My folks? Uh no. My roommate probably is though." Clint kept his breathing even and reached for the door. He needed to get out of this car before Stark asked anymore questions.

"Hey! Wait!"

Clint almost took off right there. Almost, but he knew even if he could outrun Stark (doubtful) there was no way he was going to outrun Captain America. Clint ducked down to look into the car.

"What's your name kid?"

"I told ya. Clint."

"Clint."

"Yep."

"Clint what? I want to know who I'm grateful to, for saving Pepper."

And then Clint did something stupid. After months of being invisible, faceless and nameless in this huge city, he wanted to be someone again. Himself. He told Stark his real name.

"Clint Barton."

"Well thanks, Clint Barton. You did a really good thing and I am deeply grateful. I know I already gave you one of these," he said, handing Clint a small white rectangle. "But seriously, if there is ever anything I can do for you? You give me a call. Okay?"

Clint looked down at the card in Stark's hand. It felt heavy when he took it, like a promise he knew he could never keep. But he took it and smiled, only wanting (needing) to get away.

"You take care of yourself, son," came the voice of the captain from inside the car. "Stay out of trouble."

Clint nodded. "I will," he said, stepped away, closed the door and turned toward the building. He knew it was a straight shot through from the main entrance to the back. He could be out in the street on the other side of the building and gone in less than a minute. He opened the door and walked through without looking back

 

"Something isn't right here," Steve said, looking at the door the kid had just disappeared through.

"Yeah. How is that kid old enough to have a roommate and an apartment in this city?" Tony said, looking at the building door that was still slowly closing.

"I don't know," Steve said, opening the door to follow Clint Barton into his building.

He was already gone. There were no foot steps on the stairs. Tony saw the other door closing and took off in that direction. The street it emptied onto had only a few people on it. Clint Barton was not one of them.

 

*

 

The weather got colder, January rolled into February and nothing really changed. Clint realized he had been on the streets of New York, again, for 3 months. He was cold and hungry and running out of ideas. Clint thought about panhandling but he couldn't take the chance of getting picked up for it. He only had a few more weeks to go until he would be eighteen and free. He was just going to have to tough it out. It sucked though.

He really just wanted a hot meal, even like those cheap french fries in a paper pouch or a cup of cheap coffee. Clint stumbled on his first hot meal in over a week totally by accident. He was taking in the bottles and cans he had scrounged, hoping for enough money for a burger or something, but his bag was only half full and hope was thin on the ground. The two dollars and seventy cents the clerk handed to him was barely enough for a cup of fast food coffee.

“Running a little short there, son?” Clint turned to face the voice behind him.

It was an old guy he had seen around a few times, usually here turning in bottles just like Clint. He didn't want to be rude but there wasn't much he could say without giving himself away. Clint just shrugged instead.

“Well, you can always go to the Mission.”

“Uh. What's the Mission?”

“Soup kitchen. Free. Five mornings a week. Don't ask a lotta questions. Won't end up owing them nothing.'”

“I don't- I don't know where it is.”

The old man rattled off the address and Clint knew right where it was.

“How often could I go there?”

“Every day it's open if you needed to. They won't hassle you. You go in the morning. You get hot food and the chance to warm up. Even a place you can wash your clothes.”

Clint looked down. The jeans Stark had given him were getting pretty bad. He washed the T-shirt in restrooms a few times but the hoody and the jeans were a no go. He could wash them but there was no way to get them dry, and he couldn't wear them wet.

Just the chance to get cleaner and maybe warm up a little were almost temptation enough. But a hot meal!

“You go to St. Xavier's and tell father Bart that Edward sent you? If you haul ass you can get there today before they close at 12:30.” The old guy turned and took his place in the line.

Clint did as he was told and hustled. St. Xaviers doors were still open but Clint felt weird about going in. It was unfamiliar territory for one thing, and for another they were going to know he was homeless. Clint had spent months trying hard not to get noticed and hauled off the street and stuffed into a group home. If group homes in Iowa and Ohio sucked he imagined the ones here were going to be at least as bad. They could even be worse.

He looked across the street and tried to decide what he wanted to do.

Even the smells coming out of the door every time it opened were not enough to make Clint brave. Fresh bread, and soup, something sweet that might be pie. Clint's mouth watered so much he had to swallow, but he stayed where he was, trying to figure out if the risk was manageable.

"Can I help you?" a voice behind him asked gently but far too close.

Clint might have jumped a little. He whipped around, hand half raised in defense. He immediately felt like an idiot when met with a kind face and a roman collar. He had been on the verge of clocking a priest!

Clint dropped his arm and looked down. He felt stupid getting caught spying on the place by the guy who probably ran it.

“You think you might like to come in, warm up, maybe have something to eat?” the father asked.

“I.” Clint said.

“It would be okay if you did. No one is going to hassle you.” He was clearly trying to be encouraging without being pushy.

“Uh. Okay. I could, maybe. Oh. Uh Edward sent me. Said I could come in and get warm?”

“Edward, hmm? Well, that's alright then. Soup today is beef barley. How does that sound?”

“Good.” Clint said quietly. “It sounds real good.”

It was.

 

Things got a little better after that. Maybe not perfect, but better. He ate most days. And there was a place to get warm and get cleaned up a little. And even though father Bart was interested, he never asked questions Clint couldn't answer. Mostly it was just a chance for Clint to be warm and relatively safe and feel like a human being for a couple of hours. That was better than almost anything, feeling like a person again.

Clint knew the feeling of safety was an illusion, but he still grabbed at it with both hands whenever he could. It was as close to the real thing as he had ever been and he wanted so bad to have a life where he was okay. Even though he didn't really know what that looked like or how to get it. So Clint would come to this old, run down street level ministry and eat soup, drink hot coffee, play cards or read a book and just _be_ for a few hours in the morning. Then he would pick up his backpack (with his bow stashed inside) and every small thing he owned in it and go back out into the cold.

When he crawled up on his lumpy old bed, snuggled under the parka he found in the trash, Clint let himself dream about what kind of life he might have some day, when he didn't have to dodge CPS and cops. He thought about what it would be like to be a real a hero with a home and a way to really help people, instead of a powerless, homeless kid who could barely fight off muggers and thugs and thieves.

He had a dream, as he slept at night in his unheated lonely haven, of making the streets he walked every day safer for everyone who walked there with him.

He couldn't let himself think for one second that it would never happen, because that dream was really all Clint had left.

When he got up rested, whether it was in the morning or occasionally late at night, he stepped out on those streets clinging to all the hope he could muster.

 

*

Not having to scramble so hard for food or any sort of comfort, freed Clint up to do what he could to help, more effectively.

Now instead of being too tired to do any real good Clint felt like he actually had the energy to be more active. He started going on a regular patrol. But he didn't do it in any obvious way. He took to the rooftops. There were huge areas where buildings were so close together that he could leap from one to the other. Thanks to legs that were once again strong and a lot of tumbling training in the circus, he didn't even land hard that often. It was also almost as if he was invisible when he stayed up high. He could get really close to any situation that might need his attention which meant he often had the element of surprise if he needed it.

Another bonus of taking to the roof tops was that Clint saw more. A lot more. Drug dealers, bag men, pimps, rapists; all the low level scumbags the city had to offer . None of them ever looked up.

Being a good man, Clint didn't just stick to preventing muggings. He had a lot to make up for, by his own measure. Clint didn't always know the best way to intervene or where his butting in would do the most good, but he sure as hell tried.

He felt like he was actually making a difference, and maybe he was, until the day when the wrong scum bag noticed him.

Clint was watching this fat asshole stand by as a couple of his thugs worked over the guy who ran the pizza parlor half a block from Clint's place.

Gero was a good guy. Instead of just chucking the leftovers at the end of the day he got his staff to take an extra couple of minutes and bag the slices (and sometimes whole pies) that were left. More than one person, Clint included, had climbed into their dumpster (with its permanently open lid) and found all the grub they needed for dinner. Once late in December Gero had even sought out Clint when he was lurking in that alley and brought him a hot cup of coffee.

"Can't let a good man stand around in the cold without something hot to drink," he'd said and shoved a huge paper cup of sweet, cream-filled coffee into Clint's hands. Clint wondered at the time if Gero knew one of the people Clint had saved from getting mugged.

Clint never forgot that coffee on the coldest night he'd had so far, and kept a special eye out for Gero and his staff. They even talked sometimes, and if Gero saw Clint out in the cold he brought him coffee. Clint figured that made them friends, sort of.

So now here he was, sitting on a rooftop playing hero, and Gero was getting beat up by fat assholes. It only took about two seconds and then Clint was nocking an arrow and giving them fuckers something else to think about besides shaking down kind hearted old men.

One arrow through the meat of one fat arm and the whole scene below him changed. Gero dropped to the ground when the shithead holding him up let go to grab his buddy. Clint was gratified to see Gero didn't land hard despite the beating he had taken. The people who had been beating on him were suddenly not that interested in where Gero was, too busy freaking out about an _arrow_ sticking out of one of them. Nothing could change a situation like the element of surprise combined with a certain level of shocked disbelief.

Clint watched as Gero moved away from them. When one of the thugs made a move to stop him Clint let another arrow go, this time it found its mark in a meaty thigh. Clint was backing up and moving across the roof the instant the arrow point hit. He needed a new vantage point, one that put him between Gero and the bad guys. A short run and one long jump, and he was on the roof of the building opposite Gero's and there was no way they could get to his friend without meeting the point of another arrow. They tried anyway. Clint showed them their folly by sending an arrow along the side of the ringleaders head just close enough to break the skin without killing him.

As tempting as it might momentarily have been, Clint was not prepared to cross that particular line. Heroes didn't kill people. He'd seen Iron Man and the Avengers lots of times on TV and even a couple of times on the streets of this city. They didn't kill, they brought people to justice. They stopped crimes from being committed. Clint didn't know if the cops could do anything with these guys but HE could stop them from beating a good man for shakedown money.

So he let another arrow fly without intent to kill. He just wanted to stop them.

"God damn it! What the fuck is this shit? Carl! You stupid asshole! I'm fucking bleeding here! Go get the fucking car!"

The biggest man of the group ran off at his boss's word.

"Jesus fucking christ! What the fuck is this shit?"

Clint watched, crouched down behind and A/C unit, as 'Carl' came and got his boss and the rest of his crew. It took them a while to get everyone loaded, they were arguing about something until finally the 'boss' smacked the skinny one in the back of the head and then they were all in the car.

Clint waited until the car was gone before he swung down from his perch onto the fire escape and then quickly down to the ground. He ran to the back of the pizza joint to find Gero still crouched in the open doorway, his battered and bloody face in his hands.

"Christ! " Clint muttered crouching in front of the man. "They really messed you up."

"Kid. I knew it had to be you." He squinted blearily at Clint, one eye already starting to close.

"Come on, man. Let's get you inside. You need a paramedic or a doctor or something."

Gero nodded and let Clint help him to his feet. Clint used Gero's phone to call 911 and waited until he heard sirens and then quickly slipped out the back door. The paramedics were coming, but the cops were too and Clint didn't need cops now or ever.

"Be careful, kid," he heard as he left. Gero knew Clint was hiding from cops, he just hoped the man didn't figure out why and then decide to 'help' him. Clint didn't need help. He just needed to get through a few more weeks.

As Clint slipped down the alley toward his place he had no clue about the surveillance camera that tracked his movement or the figure in a recessed doorway that watched the direction he went.

Clint certainly didn't hear what the man watching from the doorway said into a cell phone. "Yeah boss, I spotted him. You want me to follow? Yeah okay. I'll call you when I see where he goes." The phone snapped shut and the man stepped out of his hiding spot and followed the way Clint had gone.

 

 

"Sir, I believe I have found your wayward street urchin."

"JARVIS, what have i told you about just stopping music above a certain decibel level?"

"I am unable to accurately recall, sir. I believe it was something about mitigating brain damage?"

"No! No it was not. It was the fact that I hate it when you do that and could you NOT, unless something in my immediate vicinity is on fire."

"Of course, sir. However. As I said I believe I have found you street urchin."

"My what, now? Street urchin? I don't have a - what?"

"Clint Barton aged 17, no fixed address."

"And you felt the need to fry my brain with overwhelming quiet because...?"

"I suspect the aforementioned urchin is about to be strenuously assaulted and may require assistance"

"Oh for fuc- FINE! Suit up. Call Cap, load the coordinates."

"The good Captain is already on the flight deck, sir."

"Of course he is. Make sure that doesn't explode while I'm gone." he said pointing at what he'd been working on. "Remind me to give the kid shit for his bad timing."

Tony ran to the elevator.

 

*

 

Clint heard them coming just as he reached the boarded up window, footsteps thundering behind him. There was no choice but to try to run through and get in through the door. He was fast and he could be quiet, they might not know which way he went. He just had to pop the lock and get in.

Clint almost got away. He was making a run for it, when two of the biggest guys he had ever seen rounded the corner and stepped into Clint's field of view.

"Shit!" His bow was in pieces in his pack and no use whatsoever. He looked around for a weapon, eyes landing on a piece of lumber the size of a bat. Perfect for swinging. Clint dropped his pack to free up both hands a grabbed the wood.

Clint choked the piece of wood up tight and got ready. Two more guys stepped into view. And then two more behind them.

Clint was going to get his ass kicked. Really, _really_ bad. He adjusted his grip. He had limited choices here. Going down swinging looked like the best one. They were probably going to fucking kill him, he was still going to fight.

They walked casually closer looking him over, laughing. "Not so tough with out your arrows, are ya? Ya fuckin punk!"

Clint didn't say anything, just watched them come, waiting for his moment.

"If you say you're sorry, apologize, we promise not to kill you slow."

Clint didn't say a word.

"Your funeral, kid," the biggest one said and stepped in closer.

 

Clint probably would have died right there in that alley, if it weren't for the same streak of do-gooder that had gotten him into this mess. Because just when the first fist connected (really hard) with the side of his head there was roar of engines from above, a couple of really indignant yells, and before Clint could pick himself up off the ground to join in, the fight was over. Iron Man and Captain America stood over a pile of unconscious thugs and a couple of uniformed police were running toward them all.

"Hands in the air, punk!" one yelled leveling his gun at Clint, who was doing exactly as he was told. It was clearly too late to run.

"It's alright, officer!" Captain America proclaimed (yes, that's right he _proclaimed_ , no other word for that voice) and slung an arm around Clint's shoulders."He's with us!"

"I think you will find these gentlemen were involved in the assault behind Geronimo's Pizzeria a short time ago." Seve told the officers.

The cops both looked dubious, but really not ready to argue with Captain-fucking-America.

"Yes sir!"

And just like that Clint was off the hook.

"I guess I can go then" Clint said grabbing his pack from where he had dropped it on the ground.

"Not quite so fast there, junior," Iron Man said, reaching out to snag his shirt.

"You and I need to have a conversation about the merits of self preservation."

Clint swallowed. Okay, so he was actually maybe in some kind of trouble.

"At the tower," Captain America said taking him by the arm. "Happy will drive us. See you there, Tony." He waved Iron Man on his way and pretty much hauled Clint to the same big black car as last time.

"How much trouble is this gonna cause me?" he asked, chin out, defiance not hiding his fear as well as he thought.

"Depends on how stubborn you are going to be. We'll talk when we get there," Cap said and pointedly turned to look out the window.

 

Clint thought about making a run for it as soon as the door of the car was open, but really what chance did he have of out-running Captain America? None. Plus there was the fact that the Captain had his hand wrapped firmly around Clint's arm like maybe he knew what Clint had just been thinking.

They moved toward the elevator, Clint half trotting to keep up.

Then from behind them, in the direction of the elevators he heard, "Are you two lady's done dawdling over there or what?"

They turned to look at Tony Stark standing there, now wearing slacks and shirt instead of the Iron Man suit. He squinted at Clint and the Captain.

Clint kept his eyes on the floor as the elevator doors closed, clutching at his bag and scowling rather than thinking about what was happening here. Or even admitting he was scared.

He was in the elevator less than a minute before he couldn't stand it anymore. Clint had to know what was going on, what was going to happen to him.

"What is this, anyway? Why you keep dragging me up here?"

"Would you have preferred we left you where you were to get your ass kicked? Again?"

 

Clint shrugged. He didn't really know what he was supposed to say to that. He stared at the shiny wall in front of him and waited.

Clint sneaked looks at the two men that flanked him. They were staring stonily ahead so they clearly had nothing else to say for the moment.

When the elevator dinged and the door slid open, the big hand that had moved him toward the elevator in the first place steered him out into the same lobby-area-foyer thingy that Stark had brought him to before. If Clint was less scared he would probably appreciate it more than the first time he had seen it.

Tony Stark walked in front of them and the Captain steered Clint to follow. They came to a stop in a large open room filled with couches and comfortable chairs and state of the art entertainment equipment. Clint had even less idea what the hell was going on than he did a minute ago, because he was honestly expecting to be arrested or something. He was NOT expecting Captain America to wave him toward a seat or for Tony Stark to offer him a soda. Clint did what he always did when he was in a situation that intimidated him. He went with smartassing his way through it.

"Soda? How about a beer!'

Stark just snorted. "Dr Pepper it is," he said.

Clint waited for Stark or the Captain to tell him what this was all about.

"Son," the Captain started.

Here it comes. This is where he was going to get told to back off and butt out or risk getting in real trouble.

"Where did you learn to shoot like that?" was not what Clint expected to hear next.

"I. Uh, What?"

"With the bow and arrow action," Stark said "That _was_ you , right?"

"Uh. It - yes that was me?"

"Where did you learn that? Archery seems like a very specific sort of skill. And, no offense, but you _are_ kind of young to be that good at it."

Clint took a minute to just blink at them before answering. "The circus."

"Excuse me?" The Captain said.

"That's where I learned. The circus."

"You're in a circus." Stark sounded really doubtful. Clint didn't really blame him.

"I _was_. I'm not now."

"Did you grow up there? In the circus?" the Captain asked. He sounded dubious but also interested.

"Sort of. My brother and I. We joined when we- uh - were. Younger. I just kind of picked up the archery thing."

"Hmm," Stark said, looking at him over the edge of the glass he held. It looked like scotch. Stark looked sceptical. "And what do your parents think about this?"

"Not much. They're dead." Clint hoped if he was really blunt and snippy Stark would drop that.

No such luck.

"So you what? Ran away to join the circus? Let me guess. Foster care?" Tony asked.

Clint didn't say anything. He wasn't going to lie but he also didn't want to have this conversation in the first place.

"So how did you go from learning archery in a circus to living on the street?"

Wow. That was a lot more direct than Clint was actually prepared for.

"Who says I'm homeless?" Clint demanded belligerently and hoping to bluff his way through this.

"I do," Stark shot back. "Gonna prove me wrong?"

 

"I don't gotta prove nothing to you!"

"I notice you aren't exactly denying it either."

"Tony! Please! I think you might be forgetting the point here! Remember? We wanted to ask Clint something?"

"Oh. Yeah, right! Sorry. I just- ah whatever'. Cap's right. Sorry." Stark kind of softened or backed away. Kind of. "See, we were wondering. About you and your bow and your amazing aim, and why you suddenly started doing the hero thing. Is this an actual thing for you? The pursuit of justice? Or is just some kind of accident that you are always getting involved now?"

Clint tried to judge what Stark wanted from him. It was hard to tell, Clint was leery of giving too much away here.

"Why you wanna know that?" He couldn't keep all the defensiveness out of his tone no matter how hard he tried.

The captain stepped in then. "Son. You aren't in any trouble here. Tony and I both get it, if you are trying to help people. It's what _we_ do after all. We were just interested to know where you were going with this."

 

"Oh. Well, I wasn't really 'going' anywhere with it. I just wanted to help some people. And there was that time Miss Pepper needed help. Then after I got hurt that time you guys helped me out and I just got kind of tired of seeing bad shit going down all around me and not many people doing anything about it. So. I did something. I wasn't like trying to uh- get in your way, or mess with your Avengers thing or whatever. I just wanted to help some people." Clint was basically a terrified kid who was sure he had pissed off a bunch of super heroes, that made it even harder to stand his ground. He did his best to keep his chin up, look them in the eye and hope it was the right answer.

It must have been, because Stark said, "Well kid. How would you feel about moving up to the big leagues?"

Clint blinked at him. "Um?"

"We'd like you to join the Avengers, son. We could really use a man with your skills" the Captain said.

"As soon as you're 18. Which is in what? 5 weeks? Just enough time to get you fed up properly," Stark said with a wink.

 

*

By the time Clint turned eighteen he had gained ten pounds, most of it muscle. He had made a friend for life of Happy Hogan "on account of being the guy who saved Pepper." And on the day itself Tony gave him the most beautiful long bow Clint Barton had ever seen. It was _purple_ and had a matching quiver full of trick arrows based off the designs Clint had concocted in his head over the last year.

He was shooting explosive arrows into doombots with that bow less than 24 hours later. "Happy Birthday to me!" he thought, grinning like fool, and let another arrow fly.


End file.
